Florence’s Safe Haven

Twelve-year-old Florence Balagizi saw her mother stabbed to death in front of her on the third day of the Rwandan genocide. Now living in Poland, she finds solace in singing as a way to banish the unhappy memories and the problems of the present.

Florence was born in Bukavu, in eastern Zaire (now re-named the Democratic Republic of Congo) close to the border with Rwanda. Her mother was a businesswoman who traveled on the job and Florence lived with a foster family. One day, in April 1994, while visiting her mother in neighboring Rwanda, tragedy struck.

"We had heard rumors that Tutsis were being massacred by Hutus when I was visiting my mother on that fateful day. We didn't take it seriously," she recalls. "Then on the third day of the massacre, as we sat at home, me and my Mum, I left for a few minutes to collect something from her room, leaving her alone in the sitting room... Those few minutes saved my life."

A group of angry men with machetes walked in and started shouting at her mother. "One of then pulled out a long knife and stabbed her on the chest twice," recalls Florence, in tears. "At this point I practically went mad and left through a back door... running." She did not stop until she crossed the border and reached Bukavu.

She got a shock when she told her foster family what had happened. "They sent us packing... me and my little sister." Florence found shelter in a refugee camp. She was forced to sell her daily ration of food in order to care for her younger sister.

A few weeks later, they embarked on a 700-km trek to the central Zairian town of Kisangani, a journey that took them over 45 days. "On the way we fed on fruits and nuts, quenching our thirst with water that was often so horrible that it makes me shudder to remember it."

There, she hid her identity, fearing that the witch-hunt for ethnic Tutsis was not over. Aided by the fact that she spoke a range of languages including Swahili and Lingala, as well as French with a Zairian accent, she managed to pass for a Zairian. Furthermore, she renamed herself with a Zairian surname, which helped her board a plane that was flying displaced war victims to Kinshasa. "We were adopted by sympathetic people, but I often lived separately from my little sister who lived with another family," she explains.

To pay for their school, she worked as a babysitter. "I take after my mother who was very active," she says. A young theological student at the school brought her plight to the attention of a Polish priest, who was moved to tears by her story. He helped the two girls travel to Poland in 2000.

Florence, a gifted singer, is currently awaiting a decision from the Polish government on her application for asylum. Meanwhile, she spends her time singing hymns. "This is how I manage to make ends meet and avoid being idle," she says. "Singing consoles me. Besides, it is a symbol of absolute freedom. When singing, people just listen; the color of my skin doesn't count. Nobody cares whether I am African or not, whether I have a legal status or not."

Florence finished high school just before leaving Congo. "I hope to continue my education but it is difficult here. I would like to be well educated and work hard in order to return home... though I have no relatives there now... no home, I am still ready to help with the reconstruction of my country."